


i want to come home (to you)

by winterveined



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterveined/pseuds/winterveined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are 23, and you don’t believe in soulmates.<br/>You don’t believe in soulmates, even though you cried your way through <i>The Iliad</i> because every word on it dug deep, every word hit home. Even though it felt as if you were there, and it felt as if you died when Patroclus did. It felt. It <i>feels</i>.<br/>-<br/>written for <a href="http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=463256#t463256">this</a> prompt from the footy ficathon (Bastian Schweinsteiger/Lukas Podolski; I would long for you through worlds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want to come home (to you)

When you were 5, your mother taught you about soulmates.

She told you in sweet words of Zeus, god of lightning and thunder, and of how humans once were. She said, before tucking you in bed, that they had four legs, two heads and four arms, but were too prideful for the god’s liking. With softness in her words, she whispered of Zeus’ punishment, of how he ripped humans’ body in half, and how, in pure agony and suffering, they were doomed to find their other half, someone who could make them truly complete, make them one. She told you, in a sad tone, that sometimes they experienced different lives until they found each other, and, were the gods cruel enough, lost each other over and over again.

You asked her, then, if her and your father were soulmates. With a smile she said, of course, my love, don’t be silly.

When you were 9, your parents got a divorce. You didn’t understand at the time, not really, why your parents would get a divorce when your mother told you that they were soulmates. Why would soulmates choose to be apart, when they spent years and even lives searching for one another? Why would a soul chose to feel incomplete?

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and the night after. Your mother told you that you would get double presents, and two houses, hoping it would make you smile.

It didn’t.

When you were 13, you had your first crush. His name was Mikael, and he had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. Being around him made you feel happier, and it made you think that maybe he was the one. You didn’t understand why your grandfather frowned and cursed when he saw two boys kissing on the television, and it made your stomach churn.

When you were 14, you had your first kiss. Her name was Jaclyn and she had soft lips. At 16, you had your first girlfriend. Her name was Lauren, and you were more friends than lovers. She was nice to you, and you loved her, but not enough, not in the right way. At 17, a girl in your German class talked openly about her girlfriend. You envied her for her courage, and wished to have it yourself.

When you were 19 years old, you came out to your family. Your mother told you with a loving smile that they would always love you, no matter what. You father said that it would not be a problem as long as you still watched Köln’s games with him, and you laughed and let go of the air you didn’t know you were holding.

At 20 you had your first boyfriend, and at 22 you ended up in a bar with a broken heart and a mug of beer in your hand.

You are 23, and you don’t believe in soulmates.

You don’t believe in soulmates, even though you cried your way through _The Iliad_ because every word on it dug deep, every word hit home. Even though it felt as if you were there, and it felt as if you died when Patroclus did. It felt. It _feels_.

And it’s a pathetic feeling that you can’t shake off.

It’s even more pathetic the bitter way that your mouth tasted after watching _Troy_ , because _that’s not the way it happened, that’s not how Achilles looked_. And it’s sad, and stupid, because, really, how could you even know how it happened or how Achilles looked like? It’s all in your imagination.

You don’t believe in reincarnation, and you don’t remember the war, or death hitting you with a soft blow.

That is, until you see him.

He’s sitting quietly under the shadow of a tree, and he looks almost peaceful. You don’t want to think about it, and you don’t want to walk towards him, but you do.

He lifts his eyes when you’re near him, and the smile he gives you is enough to take the airs out of your lungs. He’s beautiful. He’s mesmerizing. You look at him and it something just _clicks. You know him._

No, you don’t.

_You know him._

_No_ , you don’t.

“I’m sorry, I just-” you start, mumbling the words, taking a deep breath before continuing “I got this feeling? That I--that I know you.”

He grins, arching his brows ever so slightly. He squints when the sun hits his eyes, widening his smirk. “Perhaps from your dreams?”

You press your lips together, and ignores the way that your stomach churns. _You are insane_. He doesn’t know you. You try to shake off the sickness that hits you, because you know him, and he should know you. He should recognize you.

You don’t believe in soulmates. You don’t believe in reincarnation.

“Could my dreams ever be so nice?” You ask weakly, a sad smile on your face.

It comes when you least expect it, when he tells you his name - Bastian, Bastian Schweinsteiger - with a smile on his lips. It comes when you least expect it, when his features become serious, concerned. When his brows furrow, and the look on his eyes go from cherry, to concerned, to absolutely miserable.

Bastian is up on his feet before you can do anything, he’s taking you by the neck, looking at you like you are something precious. You don’t understand.

He pulls you close, closer, and closer. Your arms, thank god for them, act faster than you, and pulls him in. You tuck your hands into his shirt, and you can’t breathe, you can’t believe. It’s him. You know him.

There are tears in your eyes, and you hide your head in the crook of his neck. _I know you_ , he whispers, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. I know you, I know you, I know you, over and over and over again. _I know you, I miss you._

“ _Achilles_ ” you whisper, a soft, weak, trembling whisper that makes him pull you closer.

“You’re alive. I miss you. Patroclus.”

You smile on the crook of his neck, holding him tighter than you ever imagined possible. You can taste the saltiness of your tears, and, when you lift your head, he’s crying, too.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

You mean to say it, but you don’t. The words get stuck in your throat, and you want to kiss his lips, you want to hold him close, until you’re one, until you’re complete.

“ _I love you_.” He whispers, pressing a soft and wet kiss to your forehead.

_You know him._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd. Any and every mistakes are on my. Critiques and commentaries are always appreciated. You can find me at [Twitter](http://twitter.com/schwnies) or [Tumblr](http://matshunmels.tumblr.com).


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